by Maggie Thom
The phone rang.
Guy shifted in his seat.
It rang again.
He slouched against the car door.
It rang again.
He stared off into space, thinking he should be used to this by now but he always seemed to forget her little quirk of deciding when she'd answer.
Then came the fourth ring. "Yes."
Her tone made him feel like he'd been the one keeping her waiting. "It's her, Gramama. No mistake."
Silence. Hesitation. He knew she was torn. On one hand, wanting it to be true; on the other, she knew what this information would do to her family. "What's she like? What does she know about the kidnapping? How greedy is she?" His grandmother's voice sounded abrupt, angry.
He blew out an exasperated breath. "I haven't really had a chance to go through much with her. I don't think she knows anything."
"What does she look like? And don't tell me 'just like Mama did.' I know she's the spitting image of my mother. What color is her hair? Is she a real brunette or is it dyed? Her eyes? Are they as green-blue as a mountain lake? How much money does she want?"
There was a loud whack sound. He jerked the phone away from his ear. She'd hit her cane against the cherry wood Montclair Credenza desk in her office, a bad habit he'd like her to stop. Or just break her cane. She needed it but really used it more as a weapon or instrument to keep people in line than as the crutch it was supposed to be.
The desk had been covered in a very thick layer of varnish. His grandpa had been smart enough to get someone in every six months to sand it down and recoat the desk. She was just a tad hard on it. Same as she was with anyone in her life. His grandfather had been one of the few who'd known how to handle her and make her smile while he was doing it.
I miss you. You died too young, Gramps. Sighing, he brought himself back to the conversation, as his grandmother was saying, "you can't bring her home until you know more about her. I will not have Gina and Daniel put on an emotional roller coaster by this woman. Find out what you can about her and then give me a call. I want to know how much she's going to cost me. Understand?"
Guy didn't bother telling her that he had already found out all about her background. She was twenty-nine, single, had been offered a lucrative job in Toronto with her own TV show, on interior decorating. She'd moved a lot in the first eighteen years of her life. Then a few more times but she'd been in the same apartment for the last five years, the longest she'd been anywhere. She seemed like a straight shooter. He hadn't talked with any clients or friends, because he hadn't felt the need. His task was simple: find her, tell her and get home.
The only piece to the puzzle he hadn't figured out was how she came to be with Donna Saunders. That piece was still a bit murky. In the last six months, he'd focused his time on finding her. He still wasn't quite clear on how his grandmother had found that west coast newspaper article on how she'd helped some poor family remodel their home. She'd given him enough facts to make him curious but not enough to satisfy his curiosity.
"Understand?"
"Yes Gramere. I understand."
"Don't call me that. It makes me sound old. And I'm not."
He jerked the phone away from his head but not before he was grinning from ear to ear. He knew she'd be smiling too. Not that she'd let anyone see her. That didn't go with the head of the Caspian Wine Company. Not a woman who, against all odds, ran an empire in a man's world and in a day when a man had been the head of everything.
He admired the hell out of her.
After the distinct click from her phone, he hit the end button on his. Fighting the urge to get out of his car and stretch, he rolled his head around to loosen the tight muscles. The last time he'd slept in a car he was sure he'd been eighteen and drunk, one of the only times he'd indulged himself. If the hangover hadn't cured him, the disappointment in his grandmother's eyes had. That was the only time he'd been glad his grandpa hadn't been alive. Guy didn't think he could have lived with that.
He shifted a few more times to work out some kinks. A car zoomed by. He turned his face away. Once the vehicle was gone, he looked out his window at the house two doors down the street. No movement yet. In fact, since she'd entered late afternoon the day before there hadn't been much of anything happening. He'd been tempted a time or two to go and check but his gut told him to wait. So wait he did. Fourteen hours later, he was still trying to be patient. Get him on the computer and he was fine, he could spend hours searching and at least feel like he was doing something useful. But when it came to doing long surveillance alone, he hated it and would dump it on Graham when he could. It usually cost him tickets to some baseball game but he gladly paid it.
His stomach clenched, letting him know he was well beyond hungry. Sighing, he wished he'd thought to bring a thermos of coffee or some snacks. Everything had happened in such a hurry. And he wasn't quite ready to admit that meeting Bailey had thrown him off track as well. The picture he'd seen of her in the paper - the only one he'd been able to find of her - had let him know she was attractive but he hadn't been prepared for the vulnerability.
Knowing who she was, her life, her life as it should have been and having to be the one to tell her, had hit him like a sonic boom at the gravesite. He'd had it all planned - he'd sit down with her, gently tell her that she'd been stolen, listen to her grief, connect her with her grandmother and he'd be done. It had struck him in that moment that he was going to rip someone's life apart. A life she'd had nothing to do with creating.
He couldn't do it. So now he had to figure out how to share with her what he knew. He couldn't even come up with how he'd like someone to tell him. It was one thing to say yes to his grandmother and be reassured it would be easy - go out, find her, talk to her, set up a meeting so I can meet her - and another to actually do that. He missed working with his computer. It was easy to punch in information and get back answers or more questions but he had no worries about how his computer would feel. When he'd taken on this assignment he hadn't really thought about how Bailey would take the news. It was as simple as telling her and handing her over. But now that he'd seen her, he felt like he was going over the Niagara Falls in a barrel. And he hadn't done anything yet.
Exhaustion and grit burned his eyes. He pressed his fingers gently against the lids. In the mirror, he noted red road maps that should have meant a night of debauchery. Not that he'd ever really had one of those. Knowing he wasn't going to stay awake without some help, he started the car and drove to the nearest gas station, about eight blocks away. Coffee and food were not something he was willing to give up. What made him think he'd had to stay and sleep there overnight he didn't know but that uneasy feeling still hadn't left him and it had always served him well.
Fifteen minutes later he was back in the same spot, knowing that it would have been smart if he was on a real stake-out to park in a different place. Her car was still sitting in the same spot. And there didn't seem to be any new cars or movement in the predawn day. He'd driven down the back alley and around the block twice, just to make sure. Knowing that he was going to have to confront her with what he knew, he drank his second cup of coffee and ate his third donut. And waited for a decent hour to knock on her door. Only he wasn't sure there was a decent hour to tell someone what he had to tell.
CHAPTER EIGHT